


Either a Smile, a Handshake, or a Fond Eye

by LapisExilis



Category: Political RPF, Twilight Zone
Genre: BDSM, Black Character(s), Bondage, Butt Plugs, Crack, Gags, Gen, I would like to issue a formal apology to everyone on the Archive, I'm Sorry, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Rope Bondage, Satire, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapisExilis/pseuds/LapisExilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a terrible, terrible thing I've done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Either a Smile, a Handshake, or a Fond Eye

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man on man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

_______________________

Ben Carson lay sprawled across a couch in Trump Headquarters. His head was filled with a sort of uncomfortable pressure. One arm in a sling, and a black eye, (that was slightly darker than the rest of his face) he was the result of patho-political violence. The well-furnished room, with is warm colours, put Ben at ease. Adding to the tranquility was the utter silence. That silence...

Has just ended.

The quiet was broken by a distent cacophony that was, in fact, originating from the salmon-hued, thin, oblong, yelling-eating orphus of Ben's supported candidate. Carson couldn't make out the words, he didn't wish to. He was disrupted by Trump's presence that seemed to be approaching his area. 

Even more unsettlingly Donald was probably in usual evening attire- the type he wore only around his close and trusted pledges and employees. The outfit consisted of matalic close-fitting boxershorts and patton leather Dr. Martens. Ben shuttereded. He didn't know or care how he flet about how his allegence to Trump had become.

Trump entered the waiting area followed by several business-like minions. He was in the presumed dress, plus a taxederBen Carson lay sprawled across a couch in Trump Headquarters. His head was filled with a sort of uncomfortable pressure. One arm in a sling, and a black eye, (that was slightly darker than the rest of his face) he was the result of patho-political violence. The well-furnished room, with is warm colours, put Ben at ease. Adding to the tranquility was the utter silence. That silence...

Has just ended.

The quiet was broken by a distent cacophony that was, in fact, originating from the salmon-hued, thin, oblong, yelling-eating orphus of Ben's supported candidate. Carson couldn't make out the words, he didn't wish to. He was disrupted by Trump's presence that seemed to be approaching his area. 

Even more unsettlingly Donald was probably in usual evening attire- the type he wore only around his close and trusted pledges and employees. The outfit consisted of matalic close-fitting boxershorts and patton leather Dr. Martens. Ben shuttereded. He didn't know or care how he flet about how his allegence to Trump had become.

Trump entered the waiting area followed by seveal business-like minions, plus a taxodurmied bald eagle stuck to his shoulder. 

Apon seeing Carson's limp, distraught pose, he huffed out "Carson, You look terrible, just TERRIBLE, this just UN-PRECEDENTED" in his usual dramatic tone. He then waved for his minions to exit.

"I'm recovering Mr. Trump" Carson mewed submissively. 

"Call me Donald" 

Carson eyed Trump through his hazy perspective and remained silence and unsuspecting.

"Is there anything I can get you, Ben?" Trump asked sweetly, tilting his head. 

Ben squinted, unconfused by Donald's behaviour. "No, I don't believe so." 

Trump sat down at the end of the couch and layed a hand on Carson's calf carefully.  
"You have a headache?" 

YBen Carson lay sprawled across a couch in Trump Headquarters. His head was filled with a sort of uncomfortable pressure. One arm in a sling, and a black eye, (that was slightly darker than the rest of his face) he was the result of patho-political violence. The well-furnished room, with is warm colours, put Ben at ease. Adding to the tranquility was the utter silence. That silence...

Has just ended.

The quiet was broken by a distent cacophony that was, in fact, originating from the salmon-hued, thin, oblong, yelling-eating orphus of Ben's supported candidate. Carson couldn't make out the words, he didn't wish to. He was disrupted by Trump's presence that seemed to be approaching his area. 

Even more unsettlingly Donald was probably in usual evening attire- the type he wore only around his close and trusted pledges and employees. The outfit consisted of matalic close-fitting boxershorts and patton leather Dr. Martens. Ben shuttereded. He didn't know or care how he flet about how his allegence to Trump had become.

Trump entered the waiting area followed by several business-like minions. He was in the presumed dress, plus a taxederBen Carson lay sprawled across a couch in Trump Headquarters. His head was filled with a sort of uncomfortable pressure. One arm in a sling, and a black eye, (that was slightly darker than the rest of his face) he was the result of patho-political violence. The well-furnished room, with is warm colours, put Ben at ease. Adding to the tranquility was the utter silence. That silence...

Has just ended.

The quiet was broken by a distent cacophony that was, in fact, originating from the salmon-hued, thin, oblong, yelling-eating orphus of Ben's supported candidate. Carson couldn't make out the words, he didn't wish to. He was disrupted by Trump's presence that seemed to be approaching his area. 

Even more unsettlingly Donald was probably in usual evening attire- the type he wore only around his close and trusted pledges and employees. The outfit consisted of matalic close-fitting boxershorts and patton leather Dr. Martens. Ben shuttereded. He didn't know or care how he flet about how his allegence to Trump had become.

Trump entered the waiting area followed by seveal business-like minions, plus a taxodurmied bald eagle stuck to his shoulder. 

Apon seeing Carson's limp, distraught pose, he huffed out "Carson, You look terrible, just TERRIBLE, this just UN-PRECEDENTED" in his usual dramatic tone. He then waved for his minions to exit.

"I'm recovering Mr. Trump" Carson mewed submissively. 

"Call me Donald" 

Carson eyed Trump through his hazy perspective and remained silence and unsuspecting.

"Is there anything I can get you, Ben?" Trump asked sweetly, tilting his head. 

Ben squinted, unconfused by Donald's behaviour. "No, I don't believe so." 

Donald Trump smiled.

 

Ben Carson cluched the soft ropes that bound him to the presidential candidate's oversized bed he shivered as the large solid gold butt plug was inserted into his tender arse. It slid in slowly filled up his velvety insides. He moaned around the ballgag in his mouth when he felt it poke the pleasurable bundle of nerves deep within him. Trump's hands neaded Ben's warm, caramel arse cheeks. Carson was fully erect, but the cockring bound his sizeable, ebony genitalia. It needn't only a few strokes before It would spill it's seed on the highend sheets. _______________

Once a leaked sex tape of this nature, the gay and black community would be on board, along with sexual deviants. Washington is a cruel game indeed, the players ought to always expect pain- except, that is, when they expect pleasure. A range of sensations that oscillate with such passion- they can be experienced in only The Twilight Zone...


End file.
